


In Merry Measure

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Christmas, Gen, POV First Person, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter wants a Christmas tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Merry Measure

Walter rules the lab like a tyrant at times, capricious demands and threats of reprisal.  We're all learning which battles are worth fighting, how to distract him from the more ridiculous desires, how to soothe the savage mad scientist when he doesn't get his way.

“It's is Christmas!  This place is dreary!  We will decorate and then we will sing Christmas carols.”  Astrid's looking pained and Olivia's looking panicky.  They're both looking at me like I can somehow derail this.  “Peter, we need a tree.”

Briefest of smiles flickers across her face when Walter demands a tree, then... god, she looks sad.  Trying to turn away, find something to occupy herself while I talk him down. 

“Sure, Walter.  We'll go get a tree.”  Her look of confusion is priceless when I capitulate so easily, then  slowly dawning dread.  Astrid favors me with that look of finely honed skepticism she usually reserves for Walter.  Hell, even Walter's looking at me like I'm nuts.

“No, Peter, we don't need to decorate the lab.”  She's shaking her head to reinforce the statement.

“Come on, what'll it hurt?  Afraid Gene'll get into the eggnog?”

“I have ornaments in storage!  Miss... let's go find them while Peter and Olivia secure a tree.  A proper tree!  Living or at least recently deceased.  _Abies procera_, if you please!”  He's moving towards the basement, Astrid trailing like a duckling.

Scarf and coat and I grab my keys.  She hasn't moved.  Eyes unfocused and frowning.  I'm touching her arm before she notices I've closed on her.

“Hey.  You ok?”

Sharp nod and forced smile.  “Yeah.  Look... I'm just gonna go home.  Walter can decorate without me.”

“Walter will throw a temper tantrum without you.  Besides, if I pick out a tree it'll look like that crappy one that Charlie Brown gets.”

Life in her eyes now and I'm savoring the banter before it even starts.  Screw Broyles' Pattern, screw babysitting Walter.  My job here is to taunt Olivia Dunham into playing.

“You think you're Charlie Brown?”

“I have a certain boyish charm.”

A snort of laughter and she's moving towards the door, sliding her arms into her coat.  “You have a certain level of immaturity, you mean?”  She's just short of the door when she turns abruptly and stops.  Momentum carries me deep into her personal space.  “So... does that make me Lucy?”

“No, you're The Little Red-Haired Girl.”  It's out before the part of my mind that censors this shit can react.  In it's defense it was distracted by the scent of the pomegranate soap she uses.  Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth, probably to explain what an ass I am but nothing comes out.  I haven't looked away and neither has she and she's trying again for some sort of response.

“Are you two waiting for the _Viscum album_?  I don't believe we have any.  Another in a series of holiday disappointments.”

“Shit.”  She jumps a mile.  That was not the response I was hoping for and I truly hope the withering glare I turn towards Walter conveys my displeasure at his timing.  “Good night, Walter.  I'm sure the three of you can decorate without me.”  She's backing away, heading towards the door again.

“Not likely.”  Astrid holds up a jagged starburst of glass dangling from a little metal hook.  “All the ornaments are broken.”

Walter looks crushed.  “Yes, so tragic.  I thought I packed them safely.”

“It's alright, Walter.  We'll get new ones tomorrow.”

He's in full-on lost-little-boy mode when he looks up.  “And a tree?”

It's Olivia who answers this one.  “We'll get a tree, Walter.”  Her voice is gentle and she's better at reassuring him than I'll ever be.  “Tomorrow.  We'll all go pick out a tree and decorations, ok?”

He's nodding, happier now.  “Yes, yes.  Good.  Thank you, Olivia.”

“You're welcome.  Good night.”

She's turning away, opening the door to leave.  “Good night, Olivia,” and I try to make the words be more.  _I'm sorry, I need you, I'm frightened like you are._

It's the faintest of whispers when she looks back.  “Good night, Peter.”


End file.
